DISCOVERY.
If Dr. Leacraft expected to be received with much enthusiasm on his
return that evening he was destined to disappointment. The boys
cheered him on his arrival, it is true, and came about him with
inquiries for his injured son and congratulations on his partial
recovery; but there was a certain restraint in the manner of the
majority which to his experienced eye and ear told that all things
had not gone quite well.
And that it was something more than the by-gone offence of the
expedition to Rice's was evident. Only one-half of the boys were
implicated in that affair; they had already been punished by the
restrictions which had been placed upon them, and were to be further
disgraced by the public reprimand which he intended to give them on
the dismissal of the school; and these culprits were probably
dreading this or some other severe punishment which would be meted
out to them by the report of their misconduct which would be sent
home. But there was something here beyond all this; the boys were
looking askance at one another, and as if there were some new
revelation to be made.
Mr. Merton would have spared the doctor the recital of any further
disturbance until the morning; but the principal, having observed all
this, would not be put off; the time was short, and if the matter
were a serious one which required investigation, he must have
knowledge of it at once.
Serious, indeed, the doctor thought it when he heard the tale: the
disappearance of a hundred-dollar note confided by one boy to
another, and the question as to who was responsible for it.
But was it certain that this responsibility lay solely between these
two boys?
This was an idea which now presented itself to the minds of the two
gentlemen, as it had before this to the minds of the pupils. It had
been started by Raymond Stewart, who had said:
"How do we know that some one else has not been meddling with that
money? I do not see that it follows no one could touch it but
Seabrooke or Percy."
"That would say that there was a thief among us," said another boy,
indignantly.
"That's about it," answered Raymond.
The boys had looked from one to another almost in dismay. Whatever
their faults and shortcomings--and some of these had been grave
enough--such an idea, such an implication as this had never before
presented itself to them--that there was a thief in their midst, that
one of their number had been guilty of flagrant dishonesty, of an
absolute theft, and that of a large sum.
"That's a nice thing for you to say," broke forth Malcolm Ainslie.
"Whom do you accuse?"
"I accuse no one," answered Raymond. "I only said such a thing might
be."
But Percy and Seabrooke had both scouted the idea; no one, they both
said, knew that the former had intrusted his money to Seabrooke; no
one had been present at the time, and both declared that they had
spoken of it to no one.
But the suspicion aroused by Raymond was not set at rest by this, and
an uncomfortable atmosphere had reigned ever since, and, as has been
seen, was remarked by Dr. Leacraft as soon as he returned home.
Thursday morning, and the closing day arrived, and there was a
general feeling of shame and annoyance that such a cloud should be
resting upon the school as its members separated even for a few days.
It seemed now as if nothing could "come out," as the boys said, there
was so little time for any investigation, for the pupils, none of
whom lived at more than a few hours distance from Sylvandale, were to
leave by the afternoon trains.
The morning lessons were to continue as usual, but those for the
after part of the day were to be dispensed with.
The matron did the boys' packing, so that there were no especial
calls upon their time before leaving.
"Henderson, are you ill?" asked Dr. Leacraft, coming into the junior
class-room about eleven o'clock, and noticing that Charlie Henderson,
the youngest boy in the school and a pattern scholar, was deathly
pale, and supporting his head upon his hand. The boy was subject to
frightful headaches, which for the time unfitted him for all study or
recitation; and Seabrooke, who was hearing the lesson in progress,
had excused him from taking any part in it. These headaches were of
few hours duration; but the boy needed absolute rest and quiet to
enable him to conquer them.
As he lifted his heavy, suffering eyes to the doctor's face,
Seabrooke answered for him.
"Yes, sir, he has one of his headaches, and is afraid he will not be
able to go this afternoon. I have excused him from recitation, and
was going to ask if he may go to his room. He is not fit to be here."
"Certainly. Go at once, my child," said the doctor, laying his hand
kindly on the boy's throbbing head. "You must have a sleep, and ease
this poor head before afternoon. You will feel better by train time."
Charlie rose with a murmured word of thanks, every step and movement
adding a fresh pang to his pain, and went slowly from the room and up
to the dormitory devoted to the younger boys.
But there seemed small prospect of quiet here. The matron and three
housemaids were in the room, half a dozen trunks were standing here
and there, bureau drawers and closets were standing open, and a
general appearance of disorder attendant upon the packing for
half-a-dozen boys reigned throughout the apartment.
Charlie gave a little groan of despair as he stood at the open door
and looked in.
"Oh, Master Henderson, my dear!" ejaculated the matron, as she caught
sight of the pale, suffering young face, "you've never gone and got
one of your headaches to-day of all days. Such a hubbub as there is
here. You can't come in, my dear; you'll never get rest for your poor
head. Come to the other dormitory; we're all done there, and it's as
quiet as a nunnery, and one can get to sleep, and sleep you must have
if you are going home this afternoon. Come now; you have five hours
to get rid of that good-for-nothing headache."
And the voluble but kind-hearted woman led the way to the dormitory
of the older boys, where all was quiet and in order, and installed
her patient on Percy Neville's bed, covered him, gave him the
medicine prescribed for his relief, and having made him as
comfortable as circumstances would permit, left him to the coveted
rest and quiet in the half-darkened room.
The healing sleep was not long in coming, and for three hours or more
Charlie lay motionless and lost to all around him, Mrs. Moffat coming
once or twice to look in upon him, and depart with a satisfied nod of
her head, confident that he would wake sufficiently restored to
undertake the journey home at the appointed hour.
It was with a grave face that the doctor rose at the close of the
morning lessons to dismiss his charge for the Easter holidays. His
customary leave-taking was one simply of good-will and kind wishes
for the enjoyment of his pupils, and for their return at the
commencement of another term; but this time there was much to be said
that was not so agreeable. To the younger boys he addressed only a
few commendatory words, praising them for their fair progress and
general good conduct, and wishing them a very pleasant holiday.
To those of the senior department he then turned with stern looks and
tones, saying he had thought it but right to inform their parents and
guardians of their misconduct during his absence. He did not intend
to leave punishment entirely to them, however, but on the return of
the boys to school, further restrictions would be placed upon their
liberty, and many of their past privileges would be taken from them
for the remainder of the school year. He spoke severely, not only of
the want of principle shown by the culprits, but alluded also to the
lack of feeling they had shown in so defying his express wishes and
orders at a time of such distress and anxiety to himself, although he
did not dwell much upon this. But to those among them who had any
sense of honor left, there was an added shame when this was presented
anew to them, and as Percy afterwards said, he did "feel uncommonly
mean and sneaky."
He must speak of another and still more painful matter, the doctor
continued. A matter so serious that he felt he must allude to it
before they separated. A large sum of money was missing under very
mysterious circumstances; he believed that there was no need to enter
into particulars. He wished and was inclined to think that some
forgetfulness and carelessness lay at the bottom of this. Here
Seabrooke's hand, which lay upon his desk, clenched itself, and a
dark scowl passed over his face, while Percy glanced over at him
with suspicion and resentment written on every feature, and a battery
of eyes turned in his direction, not one among them with friendly
look for himself.
But the doctor said there might be even a worse interpretation put
upon the disappearance of the money, an interpretation he was both to
entertain, but which must occur to all, namely, that some one had
succumbed to temptation, and had appropriated the missing sum, which
one of their number had been so positive he left in a safe place.
Was it possible that there was one among the circle who would do such
a thing? If so, let him make confession and restitution before he
left to-day, and although he could not be suffered to return to the
school, he might at least be spared the shame of confronting his
schoolmates after discovery. For he would leave no stone unturned, he
said, emphatically, to unravel the mystery; and if nothing came to
light before to-night, he should at once place the matter in
competent hands for its solution.
A dead silence fell upon the boys as he concluded, and if they had
been uneasy and inclined to look askance upon one another before, how
was it with them now? So the higher powers shared the suspicions
which, they scarcely knew how, had made themselves felt among them
since yesterday morning.
What an uncomfortable puzzle it all was! and who was to read the
answer to the riddle? Had Seabrooke lost the money? Had Percy been
guilty of possessing himself of his own property by such
unjustifiable means? Or was one of their number an actual thief?
In a few more words Dr. Leacraft then dismissed the school, and the
boys were free for discussion of the matter among themselves.
It was easy for Seabrooke to see, as it had been from the first, in
which direction the current of opinion tended, and not caring to talk
further upon the subject, he withdrew to the shelter of his own
alcove.
Charlie Henderson, in the solitary dormitory, lay quiet and
undisturbed, until, having nearly slept off his headache, he woke
with the delightful sense of relief and peace which comes after the
cessation of severe pain. He lay still, however, feeling languid, and
waiting till some one should come whom he could ask for the cup of
strong coffee which was always needed to perfect his cure, and
thinking happily of home and the pleasure he anticipated in the
holidays just at hand.
At last Mrs. Moffat put her head into the room. "Ah, Master
Henderson, my dear," she said, at once appreciating the change in the
situation, "so you're better. That's a dear boy"--as though it were
highly meritorious in Charlie to have allowed himself to feel better.
"Well, now, you must have your cup of coffee to tone you up for your
trip. You lie still, while I see about it. There's lots of time yet,
and I'm not going to send you home faint and miserable to your
mother, and have her say there's nobody at Sylvandale Academy to look
after her head-ache-y boy."
And she was gone, while Charlie, nothing loth, obeyed orders and lay
almost motionless.
Suddenly quick footsteps came along the hall, and the door of the
room, which Mrs. Moffat had left ajar, was pushed open and a boy
entered--one of the older boys--and Charlie knew that his presence
here would be questioned, and that he must hasten to explain.
Who was it? There were boys and boys belonging to that dormitory, and
Charlie felt that he would rather be found there by some than by
others. It was for this reason that he had chosen the bed of the
good-natured, easy-going Percy to rest upon; he would "raise no
fuss," or make him feel himself an intruder.
It was Lewis Flagg. Certainly he was not the one by whom Charlie
would choose to be faced, and seeing that he was not perceived, he
hesitated whether he should speak and reveal his presence, or pretend
to be still asleep and trust to silence and good fortune to remain
undiscovered.
But before he had quite made up his mind which course to pursue the
matter was decided for him, and he found that he had no need to
betray himself.
Lewis was upon business which necessitated haste and secrecy; and
knowing that all the other legitimate occupants of the dormitory were
below stairs, he never gave a thought to the possibility that there
might be some one else there, and believed himself quite alone. His
hurried movements were very mysterious to the young spectator.
Lewis went to the alcove occupied by Seabrooke, where his trunk, like
that of the other boys, stood packed and closed, but not locked or
strapped lest there should be "some last things to put in." He
stooped over the trunk, lifted the lid, and taking something from his
pocket, thrust it down beneath the contents, hastily closed it again,
and darted from the room. The whole performance took but a moment,
but there was an unmistakable air of guilt and terror about Lewis
which did not fail to make itself apparent even to the inexperienced
eye of Charlie.
[Illustration: AN UNSUSPECTING WITNESS]
"I wonder what he was doing. He hates Seabrooke; so he wasn't giving
him a pleasant surprise," said the little boy to himself. "He's a
sneak, and I suspect he was doing something sneaky. I've a great mind
to tell Seabrooke to look in his trunk before he locks it. Perhaps he
has put in something to explode or do some harm to the things in
Seabrook's trunk or to himself."
Charlie was a nervous child and rather imaginative, and was always
conjuring up possibilities of disaster in his own mind. He did not
make these public; he knew better than to do such a thing in a house
full of schoolboys, but they existed all the same. He did not wish to
"tell tales;" but he had not too much confidence in Lewis Flagg--it
would be hard to find the boy in the school who had, especially among
the younger ones--and he could not bear to think that he might have
planned some scurvy trick on Seabrooke.
Charlie was a pattern scholar, a boy after Seabrooke's own heart,
because of his sincere efforts to do right; and hence he had found
favor in his eyes, and he had shown many little tokens of partiality
toward the child which had won for him the younger boy's gratitude
and affection.
He lay waiting for Mrs. Moffat and trying to make up his mind what he
had better do, when Seabrooke himself entered the room and went
directly to his alcove, in his turn unconscious of Charlie's
presence.
He looked troubled and harassed, as he well might do, and sat down
for a moment, leaning his head upon his hand, and seemingly in deep
thought.
Should he tell him? Charlie asked himself.
Presently with a sigh and a despondent shake of the head, to which he
would never have given vent had he known that any one was observing
him, Seabrooke rose, and going to his trunk proceeded to lock it.
It was too much for Charlie.
"Seabrooke!" he said, in a low tone, and raising himself from his
pillows.
Seabrooke looked up, startled at finding that he was not the sole
occupant of the room.
"Charlie," he exclaimed, "what are you doing here?" Then with a flash
of recollection, "Oh! I suppose they put you here to sleep off your
headache."
"Yes," answered Charlie, "and--Seabrooke--"
"Well, what is it?" asked the other, as the boy hesitated.
"Won't you look in your trunk--carefully--before you lock it?" said
Charlie.
"Why?" asked Seabrooke, much surprised, and thinking for a moment
that Charlie's headache must have produced something like delirium.
"Oh, because," said Charlie, thinking how he could best warn
Seabrooke and yet not betray Flagg, "because--there's something in
your trunk."
"Of course there is," said Seabrooke, "lots of things, I should
say--pretty much all I possess is there."
And he wondered as he spoke if he should ever bring any of his
possessions back there again, whether, with this cloud, this
suspicion of a possible betrayal of his trust resting upon him, he
should ever return to Sylvandale school.
"But--" stammered Charlie, "I mean--Seabrooke--somebody put something
there. I--I saw him--but he did not see me here. He's playing you a
trick, I know. Do look."
Seeing that the boy was quite himself and thoroughly in earnest,
Seabrooke turned to his trunk and began taking the clothes out,
Charlie sitting up and watching him anxiously, and wondering what
would be discovered.
"It's in the left-hand corner in front," he said; and then there was
silence for a moment.
Seabrooke laid aside half-a-dozen articles, then suddenly started to
his feet with an exclamation, holding in his hand a creased and
crumpled envelope, which he hastily opened, and took from it--Percy's
hundred-dollar note!
He turned deathly pale and for a moment stood gazing at it as if
stupefied.
"What is it? Percy Neville's money?" asked Charlie, who, in common
with every other boy in the school, knew the story of Percy's lost
banknote.
"Yes," answered Seabrooke in a stern, cold tone, "did you say you saw
some one put it there?"
"Yes," said Charlie, "but you must not ask me who it was, for I
cannot tell."
"You _must_ tell me," said Seabrooke, striding up to the bed,
"you _must_ tell me. Who was it?"
"I won't, I won't; I will not," said Charlie, firmly. "I told you
because I thought you ought to know some one went to your trunk; but
I _won't_ tell who it was."
"Ah, I know," answered Seabrooke; "no need to look very far. It was
Neville himself. Who would have believed it of him, weak, miserable
coward that he is? He would have set some one to search my trunk, I
suppose, that it might be found there and prove me a thief."
"Percy Neville! It was not Percy! Oh, no!" exclaimed Charlie; "you
ought not to say it."
"Who then? Tell me at once," persisted Seabrooke, just as Mrs. Moffat
returned with the coffee, to find her young patient flushed and
distressed, with Seabrooke standing over him in rather a threatening
manner.
"I won't," repeated Charlie, "but it wasn't Percy."
"Hi! what's the matter? what is this?" demanded Mrs. Moffat. "If
Master Henderson's been breaking any rules, you'll please not nag him
about it now, Mr. Seabrooke. You'll have him all worried into another
headache, and he is not fairly over this one yet, and he'll not be
fit for his journey home."
Seabrooke paid no more attention to her than if she had not spoken.
"Do you hear me, Henderson?" he asked. "I _will_ know."
"I won't--" began Charlie again; but Mrs. Moffat interposed once
more.
"Mr. Seabrooke," she said, actually pushing herself between the two
boys, the tray with the coffee in her hand, "Mr. Seabrooke, Master
Henderson is under my care so long as he is in here, and I will not
have him worried in this way. Let him alone if you please."
Seabrooke was blind and deaf to all her interference.
"I will know," he repeated. "I will bring the doctor here if you do
not tell. Who was it?"
Charlie's eyes turned involuntarily towards the corner of the room
occupied by Lewis Flagg's bed and other belongings, and Seabrooke
caught the look. Quick-sighted and quick-witted, he drew his own
inferences and attacked the boy from another quarter.
"It was Flagg, then," he persisted.
The color flashed up over Charlie's pale face, but he only answered
sharply:
"I tell you to let me alone. You're real mean, Seabrooke."
"So he is," said Mrs. Moffat, "and I wish the doctor would come. We'd
see if he'd have this sick boy put about this way, Mr. Seabrooke. I
tell you I have the care of him now, and I'll not have him plagued
this way."
But Seabrooke was gone before she was half through with this speech,
and poor Charlie was left to take his coffee in such peace as he
might with the dread hanging over him of being reported as a
tell-tale. Mrs. Moffat's sympathy and her almost abuse of Seabrooke
did him little good; he was very sensitive to praise or blame, and
could not bear the thought of incurring the ill-will of any one of
the boys.